


Under the Felandaris Twig

by felandaris



Series: Caboodles and Chantry Boys [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Double Penetration, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Mulled wine, Satinalia, Threesome - F/M/M, Turkey - Freeform, and turkey farts, carols, festive reflection, happy holidays, holiday fluff, love by the fireplace, the boys take a walk, winter scenery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tipples, carols and turkey <strike>farts</strike></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Drinks (SFW)

**Author's Note:**

> A present for all readers, friends and followers, this focuses on the [“feasts and gift giving”](http://blog.bioware.com/2012/12/25/thedosian-holidays/) aspect of Satinalia for storytelling purposes ~~(because I want them to have a big sappy Christmas).~~.

The heavy striped curtains hung half-open, granting a glimpse at the myriad of thick white flakes journeying across the darkening late-afternoon sky. Inside a bouquet of festive scents filled the Inquisitor’s quarters. The fire’s soot mingled with the pine twigs’ earthy smell, a perfect complement to the spicy aroma of mulled wine wafting from three decorated mugs.

 

Trevelyan lay sprawled out on the sea of cushions and woollen blankets by the fireplace, her hair long undone, shoes and underskirts abandoned in favour of lazy comfort. Beside her lounged none other than Ferelden’s sole ruler, his own shirt and trousers unbuttoned. Pained groans alternated with the fire’s crackles as he held his bloated stomach, nestling into the Inquisitor for comfort.

 

“That turkey,” he whined, “that _huge_ , huge turkey.”

 

A hiccup left the Herald’s lips before she responded, “Or perhaps the stinky Orlesian?” She was granted a dramatic moan for an answer.

 

“Don’t forget the pudding,” came the voice from the corner armchair, evoking a giggle from Trevelyan, “all three helpings of it.” Alistair grimaced at the agonising memory, lying back to rub his over-exercised tummy.

 

Her Commander’s interjection had piqued Trevelyan’s interest. “What _are_ you doing over there anyway?” she snickered, holding out her hand. “Would you mind grabbing my mug on the way?” What was intended as a sultry drawl came out a tipsy slur. Cullen shook his head, chuckling as he got up and went to squat before her.

 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” His amused scold had her sitting up, pouting like a stroppy school girl. “Of _you_? Perhaps,” she scoffed. “Now could you _please_ pass my drink?”

 

Cullen stood, ignoring his love’s antics. “Actually I was wondering whether we should start opening presents given we’ve less than an hour until…,“ his voice trailed off. Alistair shot up, worry creasing his brow at the impending end of their time together.

 

The Inquisition’s grand Satinalia dinner had been held as a late lunch, allowing the Fereldan delegation to embark on their departure tonight. The Orlesian guests weren’t leaving until the morning. Lively music and the odd shrill laugh were audible from below, a stark contrast to the sudden gloom hanging over the room.

 

Rising to his feet, Alistair pulled Trevelyan up, nodding his agreement. His feast-induced plight appeared forgotten for now. “Shall we make a start at it?” The trace of sadness in Cullen’s eyes gave way to a boyish glint as he grinned, “Certainly.”

 

Footstepsand rustles filled the room for a moment before everyone gathered back by the fire holding boxes and packages.

 

“So _–hic-_ ,” Trevelyan clapped her hands in excitement, almost dropping her gifts, “who goes first?”

 

His Majesty began to say something. The words, however, never reached anyone’s ears for he frowned in arduous concentration, his nose crinkling in utter disgust at himself. “I’m terribly, profoundly sorry,” he sobbed, his bottom lip sticking out in an attempt at garnering sympathy. Trevelyan’s curious sniffle was followed by another bubbly giggle when a not-quite so pleasant odour spread in a less than charming addition to the room’s seasonal smells.

 

Cullen tutted, stifling a chuckle that lengthened into his shy smile of old as his expression softened and a flush crept up his cheeks. He cleared his throat then handed Trevelyan a bundle of parchments, rolled up and tied with a silken red bow. He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice bashful as he stammered, “It’s, ah, poetry- or a rather inept attempt at it.”

 

Trevelyan’s eyes widened, their glassy shimmer no longer just alcohol-induced. Her hands shook as she set down her packages to accept his gift. Speechless for once, she swallowed then almost knocked her man over as she fell into his arms. “Thank you,” she managed at last, “that’s more than-“

“Shush,” Cullen cooed into her hair as he rubbed her back, his grin now one of pride at his present’s success.

 

From beside them came the audible clearing of a throat and an impatient shuffling of feet.

 

“Are you sure it’s your _mouth_ speaking this time?” Cullen teased, coaxing another giddy laugh and a hurt pout from Herald and King respectively.

 

He let Trevelyan go, grabbing a book from the side table. Taking a step towards Alistair, he handed him the heavy linen-bound volume. Alistair’s quip caught in his throat when he saw the bold-lettered title. “ _Accounts of the Fifth Blight_ ,” he whispered, his fingers finding Cullen’s over the sturdy cover. Plight and sacrifice, understanding and sympathy, hope and affection were all condensed into the look they shared before Alistair closed the space between them. They hugged, pulling one another in tighter with every breath, nodding into each other’s shoulders as they silently recalled things lost and left behind.

 

When they’d parted it was Alistair’s turn to blush and stare at the floor. “This is for you both,” he mumbled into his collar, handing Trevelyan a small rectangular box of dark wood. The lid’s intricate carvings caught her attention but Alistair stopped her before she could open the brasslatch.

 

Nervous eyes flicked between the two people he’d become so close to. “Open this when-,” he swallowed, “when this-,“ a vague gesture around the circle they were forming, “…is no longer. When we’ve had to, you know-,“ one had to strain their ears to hear him now, “… _move on_.”

 

The three huddled close in another embrace. Arms wrapped around waists, fingers dug into sides and deep breaths synchronisedas they held on to one another, each laugh and every happy moment they’d shared.

 

Trevelyan broke away first to pick up two packages of irregular shape and hand one to each of her men. Not sure what to expect, both shot her a glance of cautious intrigued before the sound of paper rustling filled the room once again.

 

When the noise ceased, Cullen and Alistair’s faces lit up with the excitement of young boys, and Trevelyan delighted in their fascinated _Ah_ s. Each was holding up a statuette carved from polished oak wood- a lion for the Commander, a griffin for the King. Trevelyan couldn’t stop grinning, affection warming her tummy along with the wine as they marvelled at their respective presents, each recognising the personal significance. “I’ve always wanted one,” Alistair mumbled to himself, turning the figurine to admire it from all angles.

 

Eventually she decided to nudge her men out of their reverie. “There’s more.” They glanced at each other, then her, upon finding that there was indeed another small parcel inside each of the larger ones.

 

Once they’d removed the frail gold wrap Cullen and Alistair stared, dumbfounded, at the identical items of clothing. They were smalls- rather small indeed, of a shiny black. Both men’s eyes widened when they discovered that the back consisted of nothing but a single, thicker string of material.

 

Trying her hardest not to burst out into a cackle, Trevelyan gleefully observed the comprehension setting in, their cheeks turning crimson as the tipples she’d been enjoying.

 

Cullen was first to break his incredulous silence. “You want us to _wear_ these…?”

 

Trevelyan placed a hand on each of their backs. “I thought they might suit you.”

 

Quiet settled as the two imagined themselves in the flimsy attire. Alistair eventually looked up from his inspections, his expression whimsically decisive. “Guess we’ll indulge you then- won’t we, Commander?” Without waiting for a reaction he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

 

“Thank you, dear,” Cullen joined in, pressing his lips down on her other side. Trevelyan clapped her hands again, smiling at the prospect of her gift being put to use.

 

“Look!” Something had caught Cullen’s attention over her shoulder, and he walked towards the window. Outside another snowy spectacle had begun, thick flakes bouncing playfully on ever-new gusts of wind.

 

Together they gathered to observe the display, so fitting a contrast to their own warm comfort. They stood in silence until Cullen cleared his throat, looking from Alistair to Trevelyan and back before he began.

 

The pace was slower, the pitch higher than she’d heard before. Yet her heart swelled a little more with each note, every second of Cullen’s rich voice floating through the room. Her smile was one of contended bliss as she pulled her men closer, resting her head on Alistair’s shoulder while they listened. For now, looming goodbyes faded away as their hearts and minds filled with soothing tones of joy and happiness.

 

_Oh the weather outside is frightful_

_  
But the fire is so delightful_

_  
And since we've no place to go_

_  
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_

 

 


	2. Cold Hands (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pensive walk

The snow had stopped falling on their second round of Skyhold, but winter kept its tight grasp on the majestic fortress. Entire structures stood covered in a layer of bright white; clusters of elegant silvery crystals sat on full pine branches, and frozen puddles donned an icy sheen. Laughter, music and appetising smells were fading out as they moved further away from the main hall, leaving the wind’s distant wheeze as the only melody accompanying them.

 

Cullen relished the small sound of his boots pressing into the fluffy mass as they made their way past the stables once more. Graceful mounts stood still as the evening, their velveteen eyes observing the peaceful scenery. He enjoyed this meditative aspect of the holidays. Finding one’s senses after a busy year, taking some time to reflect on past, present and future in solitude- or quiet company, as it was.

 

Despite wearing gloves his hands stayed in his pockets, yet there was no respite from the chill creeping up his coat.In a way, he mused, the cold helped focus the mind, allowing to recount one’s wins, losses, friendships and happy moments. This brought Cullen’s attention to the figure on his right.

 

Alistair had fallen silent a few turns ago, content walking beside him and taking in the view of the normally bustling courtyards in festive tranquillity.

 

A few more paces, some frosty puffs of breath later Cullen spoke. “So,” he opened, arms folded behind his back, eyes not leaving the path before him.

 

“So?” Alistair aped, shooting him a brief glance.

 

Cullen cleared his throat, not slowing. “You’re travelling back tonight?”

 

“That I am,” the king confirmed nonchalantly.

 

Cullen still looked straightahead as they passed the closed Herald’s Rest. “It’ll be a rough ride.”

 

“That it will be,” Alistair responded, his tone holding the same understated interest.

                                                                                                   

Now Cullen looked at him. “Would you consider staying another night?”

 

Alistair’s breath caught and his step changed. It took another few strides for him to speak, gaze focussed in front of him. His voice had taken on an air of distance. “I’m expected, you know. Already behind on my duties.”

 

“I see.”

 

Amicable silence fell upon them again as they came up to the garden area, careful not to slip as they ascended the narrow steps. Had the courtyard views been alluring, the scene here was nothing but stunning. The ground and beds lay at rest under a thick snowy blanket; plants, flowers, even the small trees were left graceful silhouettes in shades of white brilliance.

 

Once upstairs, Cullen started again. “It would make her very happy if you did.”

                                                                                                           

A timid glance and a nod. The flicker of bad conscience in the brief twist of Alistair’s mouth, in the fleeting crease of his brow. “I know.”

 

They stopped outside the chapel, facing each other. Cullen’s voice rang hollow across the narrow corridor. “And me.”

 

Alistair’s head moved first, tearing his stare off the ground. Then full lashes lifted a fraction per second until his eyes met Cullen’s. Finally the hint of a smile curved his lips. “Would it now?”

  
Cullen merely chuckled, holding open the door. The small room wasn’t much warmer than outside, its quiet absolute yet welcoming in its own serene manner. Together they knelt before the Prophet, joined in wordless prayer. They left without any further conversation, falling into another comfortable silence as they made their way back.

 

“Bacon and eggs for breakfast tomorrow. And some proper tea,” Alistair said when they approached the main building.

 

Cullen gave him a confused look, understanding only setting in when he saw the ear-to-ear grin.

 

A small, happy laugh preceded his words. “I’m sure that can be arranged. You _are_ king after all.”

 

Their pace had slowed as their walk neared its end. Perhaps in an attempt to draw out their shared time, they reached for each other. Through winter’s chill, through their gloves the heat radiated from their hands as they drew closer. The spark of fingertips touching, timidly playing, warmed their bodies, their hearts; coaxed them into sneaking a sideways peek and a boyishly secretive smile at one another.

 

A few feet from the stairs, a group of guards were keeping watch around a small fire, standing to attention when both men nodded their greeting.

 

Cullen set foot on the first couple of steps, only to spin around abruptly when the flat of Alistair’s palm hit his backside with an audible smack.

 

The young recruit watching would later tell his incredulous companions that His Majesty’s response to the Commander’s shock had been to cackle and proclaim he _was_ king after all.

 

 

  
 


	3. Warm Skin (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet festive love

Trevelyan closed her dresser, tugging at laces and ribbons to perfect her outfit. Her tipsiness had worn off. A festive solemnity now held its place- along with an insistent pang of sadness at having seen Alistair off. When they would meet again was uncertain and as grateful as she was for their couple of days together, as empty did his departure leave her.

 

She was supposed to have gone to bed, sleep off the wine and be fresh for a last meal with the Orlesian guests in the morning. But she hadn’t. Instead she’d bathed in fragrances of cinnamon, pine and ginger. Painted her eyes, cheeks and lips in shades of seduction.Put on an ensemble of delicate crimson to adorn her breasts, cover her crotch, hug her shapely legs.

 

If they weren’t going to have Alistair, at least her and Cullen were going to share some intimacy.

 

The door’s creak and the ensuing footsteps on the stairs helped her shut out the melancholy in favour of anticipation. Spreading out on the plush chaise longue, she waited to greet her man with a smile.

 

A smile that was very much returned, lighting up Cullen’s face as he ascended the last few steps. “What lovely surprise,” he beamed, wasting no time in crossing the distance. For a second she questioned whether he looked quite as astonished as she’d expected. Her contemplations were short-lived, however, as he soon shed his coat and boots to settle over her. Their kiss fused warm and cold, outdoors and inside, spice and sweetness. Trevelyan smiled into the gentle strokes of Cullen’s lips; hummed when he pried hers open; wrapped her arms around his neck as his tongue’s velveteen caress stoked the timid flame in her tummy.

 

Just as her legs were about to wrap around Cullen’s waist Trevelyan startled, sitting up. Shock wrote itself across her features, her posture, abruptly extinguishing her arousal.

 

A sequence of knocks sounded from the far wall, one that normally meant but one thing- the arrival of a special someone. Someone who had left an hour ago. _Had their secret been uncovered at last?_

Curiously, Cullen didn’t appear too worried as he got up with her. Trevelyan threw on his coat, scuttling over to open the unused door.

_And there he was._

                                                                                          

Clad in a nondescript soldier’s mantle, a frosty cloud wafting off him, stood King Alistair. Grinning like someone who’d just pulled off the most incredible surprise. Which he clearly had, for Trevelyan was frozen to the spot. Words evaded her, and all she managed was an incredulous shake of her head as her eyes stung with emotion.

                                           

“I’m staying another night,” he began. “I thought-,“ he chuckled when she cut him off, having heard all she needed.

 

Trevelyan sighed, all sorrow falling off her along with Cullen’s coat as she drew Alistair closer with each touch of their tongues. Against his cold jacket she felt her peaks stiffen, her centre moisten in his embrace.

 

When Alistair broke away she wanted to protest until he twirled her around, grinning as he took in her enticing attire. “Couldn’t have missed _this_ now, could I?”

 

A shriek, high and giddy, rang through the room when he picked her up. Each step towards the bed was complemented by a sloppy peck. When he’d set her down Cullen appeared beside him, pulling him in.

 

“I’m glad you stayed,” he whispered in between smooches, his voice low and strained, the rollsof his hips leaving no doubt as to why. Trevelyan leaned on her elbows, watching her knights grow more passionate by the second. Fists clutched at strands of hair; tongues teased and teeth nibbled; nimble fingers made quick work of clothes. As ever, watching their little display left her wanting, greedy and proud.

 

Shirts were abandoned, boots flew into a corner, trousers sank down simultaneously. Trevelyan squealed once more at the sight of flimsy black material hugging appetising erections while leaving perfectly sculpted buttocks deliciously exposed.

 

She rushed to stand, smacking each of their delightful arses before sinking back into the mattress, pulling her men down with her by their thongs.

 

Then they were on each other, a mess of agile limbs, curious hands and eager mouths. Trevelyan leaned into the flick of a tongue, a finger’s pinch. Wrapping her legs around flanks, hips, coaxing them closer, feet entangled in a playful scuffle. Soon her band and smalls had vanished, only her stockings remaining.

 

Alistair cupped a tight breast with both palms, licking up its expanse like a child would a candied apple then inspected the puckered nipple. Cullen had found _that_ spot on her neck, allowed her to buck into his hardness with each suck.

 

The fire’s rustle, the play of shadows on graceful limbs, the rustle and whispers lulled her into a lazy haze of lust. Her mind went pleasantly numbwhile her senses arose a little more with each caress.

 

At one point she found herself on her front with a man kneeling on either side. She smiled when her hair was brushed from her neck; hummed when soft lips ghosted across sensitive skin; sighed when her men’s audible kiss preceded a peck from a different mouth one vertebrae down.

 

They took their time traversing down her back, alternating between tending to her and exchanging ever-hungrier kisses of their own. Trevelyan giggled under their lips’ tickles, gasped at the fleeting touches of hands accompanying theirsouthwards journey. Her eyes remained closed and her head rested on folded arms as she relished their worship of her.

 

Once her knights had progressed towards the swell of her buttocks, they stopped. Trevelyan whined and squirmed in protest, only to shiver under a reassuring shush against her ear- just as her hips were gently lifted and placed atop a pillow.

 

Then she hissed when, _at long last_ , the burn coiling at her centre was tended to as her legs were pried apart and thick fingers slipped between them. Drawing groans and pleas from her as they circled, dipped, swirled moisture along the length of her.

 

When she’d settled into a rhythm of meeting thrusts, enjoying the rising tension, another set of fingers joined. _Elsewhere_. A careful spread of her cheeks, a drizzle of oil and the sweetest intrusion of one, two, then three digits had her arching, writhing.

 

Warmth, intensity and softness, musk and moans claimed her senses, and she never wished this moment to end. But when two voices joined in on the delicious torture, she knew it had to.

 

Whispered into flushed ears, their words were just for her. Of her beauty, her feel, her taste they knew so well. Of what seeing, hearing, touching her did to them. Of how they wanted to take her, pleasure her, make her sing their names along with the Maker’s.

 

Somewhere between a stroke and a strained mumble her body gave up, no longer able to withstand. Heat curled inside her, rising up the stretch of her body, cumulating in shakes, twitches and a long, low moan. They held her through it, welcoming her back as she slid down from the heavens, a whimpering, quivering heap of bliss.

 

When she forced her eyes open her desire was roused anew. Beside her Alistair’s keen, dark gaze besieged her as he lay with one arm behind his head, thin smalls abandoned. His heavy shaft slid up and down between his fingers in luscious invitation. Cullen knelt beside him, motioning for her to take position. He grinned when her stare dropped to the glistening sheen of oil he was rubbing onto his own erection.

 

Trevelyan complied, straddling Alistair. Immediately a knowing hand found her breast. Not taking him in yet, she savoured the little noises she evoked by rubbing herself up and down his length.

She broke away only to catch his sensitive earlobe between her teeth. Alistair’s hiss and the involuntary thrust of his hips coincided with Cullen’s torso resting against her back as he leant over her, trapping her between their bodies.

 

Alistair entered her first, stroking her cheek and biting his bottom lip as she sank down on him. Tongues played and hands roamed, allowing her time to stretch. Trevelyan mewled when he pushed upwards, his stare never leaving hers.

 

Their foreheads touched as a palm on her back bid her lean forward. Trevelyan’s nails dug into Alistair’s shoulders when she was taken once more, much slower, where she was far tighter. Guttural, breathless groans accompanied each inch of Cullen filling her, and she whimpered when he’d sheathed himself. Then she was full of man and love.

 

Their rhythm was unhurried, their moans quiet. Kisses on her mouth, neck, over her shoulder, were languid indulgence, caresses tender exploration. Every rocking motion brought a new stab of pleasure.

 

Time ceased to matter as they rocked each other towards the peak, hushed coos complementing their bodies’ speaking to each other.

 

When Alistair’s movements became erratic she opened her eyes. A hint of panic lay in his gaze, urging her to retreat as she would do when he neared his end.

 

But this one, cherished time a quick calculation and a moment’s deliberation had her stay. Shaking her head, she leaned in, smiling against the incredulous man’s cheek.

 

“Happy Satinalia.”

 

Surprise and awe creased his brow along with the climax washing over him. Trevelyan remained nestled up close, revelling in the tremors of his body, the twitches inside her, the warm rush of his seed.

 

When Alistair came to, he claimed her lips in a kiss and her centre in knowing touch. Cullen’s deep strokes, his teeth at her neck and Alistair’s tugs at her pearl had her spiralling once more. Clinging, heaving and clutching with all her body, she succumbed once more, Cullen following her a second later.

 

They rested, warm bodies still entangled, fingers intertwining as their breaths slowed and the dying fire’s dwindling crackle became the only sound in the room.

 

Alistair spoke eventually, his voice strained. “Would you mind getting off me now?” Cullen and Trevelyan laughed, mumbling apologies as they slipped from each other to lie beside him.

 

With the king in their midst, the blankets were pulled up and goodnight kisses placed on glowing skin. By the time the fire faded the lovers had fallen asleep, each other’s most precious gift.

 

The next morning goodbyes were said, hugs exchanged and even the odd tear shed. Their farewell, however, along with the uncertainty lying ahead, was eased by the sweet memories of that one final night they’d given each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Find me (and the boys) on Tumblr!](https://http://cullenstairshenanigans.t%20Tumblr.com) ʘ‿ʘ


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